Friday, May 10, 2013

Dreams ... Part II

The second dream I want to share is similar to the first, though much shorter. It was another situation in which I dreamed of Master showing his control over me, and me proving my devotion and willingness to do what pleased him, without thought. Because really, that is something he taught me. Early on, when exclaiming to him how embarrassing it would be to perform a task that he was describing to me, he told me something that was so simple, and so complicated, in its beauty. He told me that it didn't matter what I thought about these tasks he wanted me to perform. And not because I didn't matter. But because all that should matter to me was pleasing him. If I kept my focus on that ... on him ... I wouldn't have to worry about feeling embarrassed. I wouldn't care. I had to become truly selfless. It meant that I had to cast off my own feelings of self-consciousness, worry of what others thought, embarrassment, shame, humiliation. (There are plenty of Dominant/submissive relationships that deal largely in shame and humiliation. That was not our thing.) I only had to center my thoughts ... focus my mind on Master, and doing what he commanded.  I only had to please him. No one else. I didn't have to worry about what I looked like, to whom, who was judging me, or why. Can you understand how freeing that is? How much you have to trust someone to even consider letting that part of yourself go? That constant worry in the back of your mind ...  am I pretty enough, sexy enough, cool enough, smart enough, good enough good enough good enough enough enough enough... Can you imagine the strength it takes, the sheer force of will that you have to exhibit to let those insecurities go and just BE? For someone you love? To make pleasing him your only goal, with no thought of getting anything in return? It's not easy. And I'm not even sure I'm explaining it correctly. But to me it felt like freedom. It made me strong.

Just FYI, the task we were talking about was going to a strip club and me dancing in some kind of amateur competition. Like, as in, onstage. Dancing. In front of people. Erotic dancing. The thought alone gives me the cold sweats. We never ended up trying me on that particular task. That would have tested my limits, absolutely. But I'm getting way ahead of myself in this story. 

The dream, the dream. Again, we start in medias res. "Into the middle of things." I am sitting in a swanky hotel lounge at night. It's like a club, low lighting, long squat couches with lots of pillows, dark corners, moody dance music. I'm sitting by myself, looking out a large, floor-to-ceiling window, where city lights sparkle and wink in the indigo night.

Suddenly he is there next to me, drinks in hand. He hands me my favorite, whiskey, with just enough ice. I take a long draught and roll the cool smokey taste around in my mouth before swallowing. Master sits down next to me, very close, his own whiskey in hand. 

"Were you watching them, Shea?"

"Hmmmm?" I feel dreamy, a little tired, the music is very loud. 

Master takes my chin in his hand and tilts my head to the side. Slightly to my left, across the lounge near the window, a man and woman are wrapped up together in a close embrace. A very close embrace. They are kissing passionately, and their hands are all over each other. Perhaps they think they are in a darker corner of the lounge than they actually are. Perhaps they just don't care. The voyeur in me perks up a little, watching their hot display of PDA.  

"No, I wasn't. I was looking out the window. I'm surprised I missed them." I laugh a little, and take another sip of my drink.

"How does watching them now make you feel?" I look at him, to see if he is smiling. He isn't. He is giving me that dark look that gives me chills. The one that means trouble, more often than not. 

I look back at the couple across the room. They are still locked together, apparently oblivious to the room, or the people in it. They both have long dark hair, and it is tangled together as they kiss. She has one long leg thrown over his, her silver stiletto catching the light. He has his hand up her skirt. I watch the subtle movement of his arm, and wonder ... is he just rubbing the crotch of her panties? Is it damp and warm? Or does he have the material pushed aside, are his fingers caressing her skin .... or is she not wearing panties? Are his fingers pressing into the wet dark between her legs unhindered? I find myself wondering if she is shaved bare, like I am. I start to feel a building warmth low in my belly, and a tingling starts between my legs. 

"Shea? I asked you a question." Master's voice warns me not to ignore him again.

I give him a quick, apologetic look. "It makes me feel ... turned on, but naughty, too. Like I ought not to watch. I feel like I should look away, but I don't want to."

"Do you think they care if anyone is watching them?"

I look back at the passionate pair. His hand is still working it's magic under her skirt, and now she is shamelessly rubbing the crotch of his jeans. Her other hand is clutched around the back of his neck, his is in her hair. The warmth that had started in my belly is spreading upwards, and I suddenly feel flushed.

"It certainly doesn't seem so. I have to imagine that they want people to see."

"How would you feel if people were to watch you like that.?" Now Master did smile. He knows I have mixed feelings of dread and desire when it came to the idea of being watched. 

I take another quick sip, and smile at Master over the rim of my glass. He gives me that look again. Dark and mischievous. I am about to answer when he leans in and kisses me.  His lips are soft and cool and taste of whiskey. 

I put my hand on his leg and lean in to the kiss. I love kissing him. Whether he is kissing me softly, slowly, or madly, roughly ... there is always a feeling of possession in the kiss. He claims me.

Master breaks the kiss, leans back and drains his glass. Then he takes mine and drains that, too, over my playful protests. He leans in close again and traces his finger down my cheek, along my jaw, over my lips. Then down my neck to my clavicle. I shiver at his touch. He wraps his finger around the chain that circles my neck. Actually, it's not the chain that circles my neck, it's a sliver studded leather choker, thin and delicate. But strong. The pretty silver chain hangs from the front of it. It's long, and it drops down the front of my shirt, between my breasts, reaching all the way to my belt. It's pretty and a little punky, and looks just like a fashionable piece of jewelry. If it means anything more, no one would know but Master and I. 

He wraps his finger around the chain and pulls it up through the deep V of my shirt. He lets it dangle for a moment, and twists its between his fingers. It's links catch the colored lights of the bar behind us. Taking its end in his hand, he uses the chain to pull me towards him. But he doesn't lean toward me, he just looks at me, at my face. This has become a bit of a "tell" for him. When he starts to study my face like that, I know he is going to do something and wants to gauge my reaction. 

He continues to pull, the chain is strong and won't break. The leather choker presses into the back of my neck ... not uncomfortably. 

"Kiss me." He whispers. He starts to pull down on the chain. If I'm going to obey him, I have to shift my position. Actually, the way he is using my necklace to maneuver me, if I'm going to obey, I'm going to have to shift positon dramatically. 

I slide off the couch and, responding to the pressure of his pull on my choker, position myself between his legs. I look up at him and smile. I don't worry if anyone is watching us, though it's hard to resist the urge to look around.  He leans down and rewards me with his passion, pressing his mouth to mine roughly, possessively, and I wrap my arms around his waist and pull myself towards him, dying to be closer, closer, always closer ...

"Shea," he whispers. "You are so beautiful tonight. I want you to do something for me. Without moving from this position, I want you to touch yourself, I want you to feel how hot and wet you are. I want you to cum, but not until I tell you to. And I want you to do it without anyone noticing. Just give it all to me, breath out, so I can breath you in." I can feel him smiling against my ear, as he quotes one of my favorite songs. 

My stomach drops. I've never done anything like this in public before. I've fantasized about it, but now that it is actually happening ... could I really do it? Could I orgasm right here in this loud, dark room, with all of these people milling about? Master presses his lips to mine again and I shake away my doubts. I must not hesitate. I will obey. 

I unclasp my hands from around his back and slide them down his thighs. My fingers are shaking as I undo my belt, and then the button and zipper of my jeans. I am suddenly wishing I wasn't wearing the tight pair I had on. In order to reach between my legs, I may have to shimmy them down a bit. Luckily, I'm wearing an open front sweater that is long in the back. So no one will notice. Probably. I'm mostly sure that unless someone sits down right beside us (and how rude would that be?) no one can really see what I'm doing, positioned as I am between his legs. Unless they are really looking. Which I suppose someone could be. The thought sparks an even hotter fire in my belly. 

I try to concentrate on what Master's mouth is doing to mine, the taste of the whiskey on his tongue, the feel of his lips, as I slowly reach down the front of my jeans, and into my panties. I do have to push my jeans down, just a little, in order to reach what I need to ... my already wet, warm pussy. I slide my middle finger down between those soft lips, smooth, perfectly bare, and I feel the warmth. I push a little further, and I feel the wet. So wet already. I moan softly into Master's mouth, and I can feel his hand tighten on my chain. 

I push my hand down further and press my finger into my pussy, feeing how wet I am, so hot on the inside. It feels so good I do it again, and again, slowly, than a little faster, just that one finger, reaching reaching ... I moan again, but it is lost in the lingering kiss, the beat of the music, the murmur of the crowd. 

Now I pull back a little and rub the damp pad of my finger over my clit, which is swollen and aching for attention. I feel a jolt of electricity and I jerk towards Master without meaning to. I steady myself by gripping his thigh with my other hand. He wraps his other hand, the one not gripping my chain, in my hair, right at the nape of my neck. His kiss is devouring me now, with an urgency that stirs my arousal even more.

I'm so wet that my finger slides over my clit easily, and I rub in tiny circles, lightly, teasingly, building the pressure, stoking the fire, until my ass starts to tingle and clench, and my thighs are trembling. My breath is catching in my throat and I'm unable to really participate in the kissing with any concentration. Master pulls back until our lips are barely touching. I whisper against his mouth. 

"Ohhh, Master. Oh my god, I'm so wet. And this feels so good."

I stroke myself a little faster, I press a little harder, and the orgasm starts to rise within me, building quickly. My panties are soaked and so is my finger, all the way to the knuckle. 

"Oh god, Oh, oh oh ..." I murmur into his his mouth, I pant, I moan. His hand tightens in my hair. 

I grip his leg even tighter, feeling the fabric of his jeans under my sweaty palm. I don't know if I can hold it back much longer. I'm starting to feel that .... swirling whirlpool of arousal, and I'm rising with it, on the edge ...

"Master, please, can I cum now? Please?" I gasp.

He pulls away and looks at my face. "No. Not yet."

I groan loudly and close my eyes. I want to drop my head forward, or let it fall back, but his grip on my collar keeps me in place. As does his grip in my hair. 

My clit is a hard slippery bud, and I'm pressing it fiercely now. I'm using two other fingers to engage the rest of my wet pussy. My thighs are aching and tight with the effort to hold back the orgasm, and I'm digging my fingernails into his thigh. He doesn't seem to care. 

"Look at me, Shea." I open my eyes and Master presses his forehead against mine. If it weren't for the fact I was kneeling on the floor in front of him, we would look just like two ordinary lovers, talking softly together while out on a date.

"Cum for me now, my little slut. My little pet."

I look into his eyes and gasp a little with pleasure. Just those words alone are almost enough to get me off. I push my middle finger again as deeply inside myself as I can, once twice three times, quickly, a little roughly, and then focus my attention on my swollen clit. Now that I have permission, it doesn't take long. I just have to ... let go. I feel that rushing in my head, the tightening of every muscle, that indescribable feeling of falling over the edge and ...

"Oh god!" I almost shout and he presses his mouth against mine again. I can feel him silently laughing. The orgasm rocks me and my whole body stiffens. My ass, my pussy, my thighs. My back arches as my hips rock forward, and I'm trapped there, between his legs, him holding me in place. I'm groaning, making animal noises as I press my all of my fingers against the amazing wetness between my legs. I can feel myself spasming with release. 

I'm suddenly weak and I start to sag, which causes the leather around my neck to dig in even more. That feeling starts to spark the electricity in me again, but my muscles are still spasming from the after shocks of the orgasm. Master is whispering to me again. "Oh, Shea, my little one. The things you do to me." 

What I do to him? 

He lets go of my chain and my hair, and pulls my hand out of my pants, where it was kind of stuck. I'm still sagging a little against him, my mind mostly wiped by the rush of the orgasm. It suddenly occurs to me to wonder if anyone saw me, realized what I was doing. Or was watching Master and I kissing and touching each other, like we had watched that other couple across the room. I realize that I kind of hope someone did.

Master reaches down and zips and buttons my jeans. He refastens my belt. He pulls me back up onto the couch beside him and tucks me up under his arm. I lay my head on his chest and I can hear his heart beating. He takes my right hand, the one that I had just masturbated with, and puts it up to his lips. I look at him just in time to see him slowly, mesmerizingly lick my middle finger, from base to tip. I shiver all over at the sheer sexiness of that simple act. 

"Taste yourself, little one."

I look into his dark eyes as I put my finger into my mouth and suck on it, then slowly pull it back out, savory the salty, musky taste of my own juices.

"Mmmmm," I say to him. "I taste really good."

A slow smile curls his lips, and the darkness in his eyes tell me the night has only just begun.

This dream, though shorter, was even more affecting  and arousing to me than the other one. Can you guess why? Can you guess which part of it lingering in my mind for days after, causing me to walk around in a near constant, heightened state of arousal?

Again, I did embellish this dream just a bit, mainly adding in the conversational bits, and streamlining it to make it more narrative. But other than those small details, this is almost exactly how I dreamed it. Again I woke up close to a real orgasm. But for some reason this time, when I did, I did not indulge myself, I didn't make an effort to get myself off. Something about that dream made me want to deny myself an orgasm, the release. For days, as the dream lingered in my mind. Hmmmm ...

I had another dream, close on the heels of these two, but I'm not going to relate it here. There were parts of it that are too ... painful? bittersweet? I'm not sure exactly what work I'm looking for, but I don't want to dwell on it now. 

The next post will get back to that long ago summer, and resume the story of me and Jack. As always, thanks for reading.

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